The kids were already bickering early this morning, so I tossed them breakfast and escaped outside to shovel snow.
I shoveled a stripe through the driveway and thought about getting the mighty minivan up the slope for our Sunday morning obligation. I tossed a shovelful of snow. I heard the cadence... "For them"
I wondered if I was doing this right. Is there a better way? Who cares, it seems to work. Just get the stuff off the driveway. Get it over with. I tossed the next shovelful harder and a little further "For me"
A hummingbird zipped overhead and another one came to drive it away. I love maintaining the feeders year round even though it's a pain when it freezes outside. These are my birds. I'm committed to caring for them. Another shovelful "For them"
Why is my face wet? Everything is dripping. Maybe it'll just melt some if I leave it alone. Plus, it's probably go...
Academia touts the value and depth of art, and does a pretty decent job teaching the difference between it and entertainment, if I do say so myself.
Heck, I spent every cent I had (and didn't have) just to fill myself with as much of this literature as possible. And man, Western Art Music is amazing. Profoundly something. I love those wacky, white, male, deceased composers as much as anyone. Sincerely, these rascals wrote some Good Art Music.
But it raises an interesting question... Did hundreds of years of attrition do the hard work of discerning musical quality for us, or are we learning discernment skills for our own selves? And who, exactly, determines what art is? Who determines what is and is not worthy enough [or lofty enough] to be taught? Who determines from which musical genres art can come from? Was it...
Spoiler: it was actually a single mighty clap of thunder, but I wouldn't know that until 9:30 pm the next day.
After 8 years, I finally decided it was time to get physical therapy to manage the chronic hip pain lingering after my final pregnancy. I was shocked to discover that my physical therapist and I share the same philosophy: his for pain, and mine for choral breathing. In two wildly different professions, the commonality of philosophy is in the mind-body connection.
I've discovered through working with him that my hip doesn't actually hurt, I only think it does. I buy into this theory-- it certainly sounds like me. My hip hurt(s) because 1) I remember that it used to hurt 2) I'm afraid it's going to hurt again 3) I do some (ineffective) things so that it won't hurt anymore 4) I know it's going to hurt 5) I'm prepared for it to hurt 6) I protect it 7) I'm hypervigilant looking for signs that it's going to hurt again, and then 8) it hurts. The...
It was the summer before 8th grade when I met my first love. Off I went to Christian summer camp for a week. I'd gone every year with some friend or other since I was in second grade. As overt and social as I am now, I wasn't then. And I had a secret: I wrote songs. Much like journaling or writing emo poetry, I poured my heart into songwriting and never told a living soul. Where other kids would come home from school and watch TV or play video games, I'd sit at the piano writing music and recording it on cassettes.
In the awkwardness of 13, I met The Boy at a picnic on Thursday night. He wandered over to our table in the awkwardness of 14 and said, "Excuse me, do you have any condoms? I MEAN CONDIMENTS!!" My friends and I howled with laughter and The Boy ran off, red faced, to find ketchup for his burger from somewhere else. I thought he was a doofus.
But that night was the camp talent show. He stood al...
I've been toying with the idea of writing a personal blog. After reconciling that this would be for me simply because I want to write it, the pragmatic voice of "Who would want to read it?" disappeared. So here we go!
The past few years have absolutely taken my breath away-- there has been painful drama, mostly internal, that has motivated me to take yet another (my fourth in as many decades) major look inward-- Who am I? What do I want? What do I stand for? What do I do? This particular crisis needs a name, since the previous three crises all seem to have innate descriptions that make at least a little sense:
#1 "Teen Years"
#2 "Single as a Grown-Up"
#3 "Terminal Degree and Terminal Marriage"
...and here we are now at phase #4, and there's not really an event attached to this one. Maybe it's "Child Rearing" or "Staying Married," but this defines the issue of selfhood through...